Runaway
by DarkSeptember
Summary: Rogue runs away from the mansion, but running away isn't all it's cracked up to be and she soon regrets it. Set midX1. Mainly friendship, but with hints of Wolverine & Rogue. This is a oneshot story, complete.


How did I end up here?

It seemed such a good idea at the time. As do all good ideas I suppose, but now I don't even know where I am. Couldn't even tell you the name of the city.

God I'm so stupid. There's not another word for it. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. I didn't mean to run away again. Not really. Just... I don't know. Even in a school of mutants I felt out of place. They're dangerous, but they're not dangerous to each other. Not life threatening. Not really. Not like me.

Ok, so maybe that's not strictly true. But it feels true.

Yeah. Pity party for one, please.

Stupid.

I blink into the night as I get to my feet, knees stiff and sore as I wrap my cloak even tighter around me, trying in vain to keep out the hard cold. Breath clouds like thin veil of smoke in front of my face and it blurs my vision, stinging my eyes with the sharp iciness of December. Even through my gloves my fingers feel numb.

I begin to wonder, not really thinking about where I'm going, just putting one foot in front of the other. Like a ritual. One step at a time. Left foot, right foot... left foot... right. I have no direction, no money. The last trucker I hitched a lift with took my last few dollars and my bag. All I have are the clothes on my back, and my stupid, _stupid_ stubbornness.

That's what got me into this mess.

I didn't want to leave, not really. I liked it there at the school. People were nice, friendly even.

Most people.

It was stupid to imagine that a school for mutants would be different from any other school. That you didn't get the same issues there. The same isolated groups of those who didn't fit in. The misfits of the misfits. Or something.

Well I thought I'd show them. I'd run away again, and then they'd feel sorry. _Then_ they'd feel guilty. To hell with them all! I'd show them that I didn't need them. Ha! The Rogue doesn't need anyone!

Yeah... right. What a big fat lie that turned out to be.

I wish one of them was here now. Miss Munroe or Dr Grey... even Professor Summers. Someone to tell me it's okay; that I can swallow my pride and come home. Someone to help me, to fix me right on up and show me the way.

But no one's here. Just me. And I think I've already used up my fair share of dramatic rescues for this lifetime.

Left foot... right foot... yeah. Whatever.

As the hours drift by, the night grows even colder; the bleak darkness expanding until it sweeps across the dim lights of the city, shadowing the frosty shapes of buildings in its muffled wake. My feet wonder their way onto a bridge, elbows awkwardly leaning on the lumpy railings, eyes overlooking a rippling expanse of sheer water as I clench my teeth to fight off the shivers. I'm so cold I almost don't care anymore.

I begin to feel bitter. Where are they? Why haven't they even tried to find me? I've been gone four days. Surely they would have...by now? They'd have noticed. They'd be worried... wouldn't they?

Maybe they're glad.

No. That's not fair.

They promised to look after me. They gave me a home and a second chance. I did this, not them. It's my fault. All my own stupid fault.

The thought makes me want to cry.

I hate hindsight.

A torrent of icy rain begins to drum down in angry sympathy, slicking the roads and splashing in the watery glow from the street lamps. As I turn my back to it, I try pretending for a while that I don't really exist, use it as an excuse to not think about the fact that I can't go back, even if I wanted to. I have no phone, no way of getting there, nothing to bargain with. I don't even know where I am.

Maybe I'm meant to be lonely. Maybe it's fate. Maybe it's punishment. Maybe it's my head telling me what my skin's been screaming at anyone who tried to touch me for years.

This one flies solo.

Yeah...

Life sucks.

Time drizzles by and my cloak grows thick and uncomfortable with the rain. My hands are numb, heavy with the aching dullness the cold brings, my head throbbing as it fights to keep me alert.

I look around me for distraction but there's nothing... nothing at all. Even the city's deserted me. The whole place is eerily quiet; the hum of traffic stilled for the night. People are asleep. Safely tucked up in the thick covers and cosy heat of their beds.

Like the one I left behind.

Stupid.

I let my feet take control again, more for the warmth of movement than anything else. I walk without looking where I'm going, scuffing my shoes along the ground... left foot... right... eyes fixed upon the hollow blackness of the sky, hoping for god knows what.

I find some steps; hunker down against a wall for shelter; rest my head...so tired, just for a moment. And when my eyes close I dream in colours. The warmth of the mansion; the vividness of the gardens. The brightness of the early morning sunlight as it streams into my room, spilling dusty patches of tarnished gold across the polished floor.

But when I wake, the world around me is no more than an endless sketch of grey in a wash of rain. It's-

..._Wait_.

My nerves tingle and I try to focus. It's still night and though my head is fuzzy from more than lack of sleep, I'm suddenly very aware that I'm no longer alone.

Something woke me.

Fear begins to creep its bony fingers down my spine. Breathing, I can hear breathing. Oh god.

Shadows lurch out at me, my imagination running riot. Then a sudden noise rattles in the darkness and I instinctively scramble backwards. Muffle a panicked scream. Heart furiously pounding, shoulders pressing sharply into the wall at my back. My head's spinning as instinct kicks in. Fight or flight. Stay or run.

I freeze in the darkness, fighting to hold my breath. Don't make a sound. Whatever it is, please don't let it have noticed. Please make it go. Oh god I'm sorry I ran away. I don't want to be here. I won't do it again. Please. Just make it-

"Hey kid."

The words ring uneasily in my ears, and I look up. Confused.

Am I still dreaming? Am I dead?

I blink the water from my eyelashes. I don't _feel_ dead. I ache too much.

Maybe I am hallucinating. Maybe this is hypothermia... but... I see his shoulders, held tight with tension. See his face looking down upon me, sternly cast in dark shadows. Expressions I don't usually associate with him etched across it. Concern. Relief.

No dream could fake that.

I feel like I'm about to cry.

He scrubs the rain off his face with a sleeve. "You done now?"

Am I...?

Oh.

I avoid his gaze. Stare at the outline of the jumbled up crates strewn around me instead. He knows. I don't know how, but he does.

I'd feel embarrassed if I had the energy.

He knows that I was trying to prove... something. Knows that I failed. Knows that I regret it. Hell, anyone can tell I regret it. I'm hunched up like a soggy ball of clothes and sleeping on the street. Not exactly having the time of my life.

"Kid?"

I nod... yeah, I'm done... I don't quite trust myself to speak. But he accepts that and doesn't push for more. No questions, just a warm hand reaching out to mine, a strong grip on my soaked glove, hauling me to my feet, and the comfort of a heavy arm around my shoulders as I'm led to the front seat of his truck.

It smells like warmth and leather and him.

"You cold?"

I don't know. I hardly even notice anymore. For a moment I just watch the way my breath clouds up the window glass, expanding and receding each time I draw more air into my lungs. But then I'm shivering, god but I'm shivering. Much more so now that I'm in the dry.

He flicks on the light to take a look at my face and curses. "Shit, Marie. You could've got yourself killed out there."

Too tired to argue. I just look down at my lap, my gloved hands wringing against each other absently. "Sorry," I mumble, but what use is an apology? It makes nothing better. It doesn't make me feel any less awful, or stupid, or _guilty_ that he had haul ass and come all the way out here to get me.

I'm a liability, that's what I am.

He curses again, words that'd make 'Ro blush, and jumps back out the truck. For a moment irrational panic seers through me. Is he angry? Is he _leaving_ me here? But then I hear him rustling around in the trunk, and when he comes back it's with an old shirt and blanket.

"It's all I have. You'd better get outta those wet clothes. I'm not takin' you back just to have you die of hyperthermia on me."

They drop onto my lap. I just look at them.

"Change," he says again, looking faintly irritated. "Don't worry kid, I aint gonna watch."

He gets out, turns his back and rolls his shoulders as he flicks up his collar to the rain. After a short moment the soft scent of smoke reaches me, and I know he's lit a cigar. The smell is so familiar that it jolts something in me, nudges me into movement. Change. Yeah, that would be a good idea right now.

It's not easy to strip out of any clothes in the front seat of a truck, let alone wet ones. They stick to me; cause me to bang my knees and scrape my arms in the small space between the seat and the windshield. Underneath my skin is clammy and pale and so cold it almost stings, but he waits, and I manage, and his shirt is threadbare but soft. I wrap myself in the blanket. It's musty, but heavy with warmth.

"You done?" comes his voice.

Yeah... I guess.

...Am I?

I hesitate before replying, then I think I must be mad. God I really must be crazy! What's wrong with me? I ache for the warm and dry and hate myself for what I did, but now I'm out of the rain there's a part of me doesn't want to go back without a fight. It's wants to make this all worth something.

I begin to wonder when I started to feel like two people crammed into one.

"Kid?" He still hasn't turned around.

"I... Yeah."

"Good."

I hope I've said the right thing.

He gets back in, then rummages around in his pocket for a phone. "I just need to call them, ok? Let them know I've found you."

I watch as he thumbs in the number with one hand, the other running through his hair, a sure sign that he got stressed out over this.

"Hey." His voice warms a little and instantly I know it's Dr Grey he's talking to. I'm not blind. I see how he looks at her. We all do.

"Yeah, by the dockside. Yeah, she's fine. Bringin' her home."

He glances over at me, gives me a nod of reassurance.

"Yeah. We'll be there. Thanks Red." And he snaps the phone shut.

The silence stretches between us.

"So..." he says eventually. "You good to go?"

I want to say yes, or nod, or... hell... manage anything that's productive. But I can't quite bring myself to. I think there must be something seriously wrong with me. I'm messed up.

When I don't answer, he tries again. "Y'know, it's a long journey for silent mopin'. Do you wanna talk about it? Before we head off?"

Do I?

I'm not sure. He's not Storm... or...or the Professor. He's Logan. He's the sort of person I'd have secret daydreams about, the sort of person I'd sneak long looks at when no one's around to notice. Not the sort I would confide in.

There's a big distinction there.

But my silence causes him to prompt me, and I get the feeling Jean told him to find out what went wrong because he's not giving up, even though comes out awkwardly, slightly uncomfortable. He deals with cage fighters and assassins, not teenage runaways.

"I hope you didn't do this 'cause of some boy?"

I let my eyes fall away from his gaze like the coward I am, focus on the side of his face instead. I'm close enough to see where the dark stubble blends into the thickness of hair. He hasn't shaved for ages.

I shake my head, hoping that will be enough.

"Other kids at school?"

And what do I say to that? Oh, I feel so... so..._weak_. Especially in front of him.

He takes my silence as an answer. "What did they say?"

I struggle to find my voice. "Nothing. It's...nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothin'..."

I look away from him, out the window, but it's still dark outside and all I can see is my pale reflection staring back.

"Marie...?"

"They said that I'll never touch. That no one'll...that they won't ever want to... to..." I blink as the words trail off and I think that if I carry on I am actually going to cry. And I am not going to do that. Not in front of him. Not here. I refuse.

I choke back the lump in my throat. How can something sound so stupid in a different context anyway? I feel pathetic telling him this now. Like this. And almost crying over it. Yeah so what? They said it. Big deal. Anyone else would have just told them to get lost.

Instead I ran. Why is that the only answer I know?

I hear him sigh, watch his hands as they scrub over his face. "You're what, seventeen?"

"...Sixteen."

"Too young to be worryin' about stuff like that." He gives me a direct look, tries to get some life-aint-that-bad humour behind it, but it doesn't quite work. He doesn't know how to handle this situation any more than I do.

"You're supposed to be... y'know... out havin' fun. Flirtin', illegally drinkin'," he manages a slight twist of a smirk. "Making the teacher's lives a livin' hell..."

"But it's so hard. Everything. It's just-"

"No one ever said it wasn't. Especially for people like us."

"But even when I'm asleep, people are afraid of me. I have to cover up everywhere I go. People treat me like glass. Like I'm fragile. Like I'm... I'm...sharp."

He frowns, his brow furrowing in that way it does when he's thinking about something. But he doesn't contradict me, or throw out any false platitudes. Probably because he knows I'm right.

"Even the Professor," I add quietly. "He's always careful around me."

"He's aware of what you can do, that's different to being afraid."

Trust him to point that out. Yeah. I know that. Doesn't make me feel any better though. "It's just... I just... sometimes it would be nice to know what it's like. Just to feel normal again. Even if it's only for a moment."

"This is as normal as it gets."

"But it's not fair!"

"Fair? Ha! Life aint made to be fair kid. Way I see it, you can ride life, or it can ride you, an' either way you can't run from who you are." I catch the glance he gives to his knuckles before he returns his gaze to me. "But you don't need me to tell you that, do you? You know all of this. You're good with coping with it."

I am?

He looks at me. "So what happened to change that?"

Oh.

I feel the colour rise up in my cheeks. I really don't want to talk about this anymore...

"You gonna tell me?"

Suddenly the dashboard is extremely interesting.

"Marie...?" he almost growls it.

Oh for crying out loud... "I...tried to kiss Bobby," I admit, at last. And for a moment it just hangs there, strangely shaped and awkward between us. The cause of all this stupid overblown mess.

I liked Bobby. I liked the way he was always nice to me, no matter what other people said. We had been talking, he made me laugh and for the first time in a long time, I was enjoying myself. And when the conversation faltered and he leant in close, he was cool like a spring morning and my stomach fluttered with nervous tension. For a moment I felt like I could be a whole person again.

Then he suddenly seemed to remember what was, what I could do, and abruptly pulled away.

Of course everyone saw. And they whispered.

"Is that what this is about?"

I shrug.

"That aint an answer, kid."

Yeah, well. Screw an answer. "I just... I wanted to know what it felt like. I can't remember my first time, it was too..." I don't finish the sentence. Besides, he already knows I put the boy into a coma. "I just wanted to remember."

Is that such a crime? Was it such a bad thing to do, putting Bobby's life at risk like that? That's what they all said. She's dangerous. Unhinged. Be careful, or she'll get you next!

I risk a look at Logan, expecting him to judge me, or lay into me, or... well... something. But he doesn't. In fact he doesn't do anything. His hand just goes to the keys, ready to start the ignition.

"What?" I grumble. "No more sound advice?"

He huffs an almost-laugh, and the hand falls back into his lap. "Only that you gotta be stronger than them. Simple as that. Not physically but," he points a finger to his temple, "up here."

...And that's Logan-advice if ever I heard it.

"Although," the corner of his mouth curls upward slightly, "being able to kick their ass does help." Then he looks at me. "You know what... close your eyes."

... Close my...? I look at him suspiciously. What for? What's this got to do with kicking anyone's ass?

"I'm not gonna eat you kid."

I never thought he was going to! Well, I didn't, but now that he's said it I do! What is this? My heart begins to thud uncomfortably in my chest. Blood rushing through my ears. I can't decide if it's fear... or something far more terrifying.

"Trust me."

What else can I do?

I allow my eyelids to close, wondering if he's gonna yell or try and scare me into never doing this again, suddenly extremely aware of all my other senses. The sound of the rain battering against the truck, the warmth of the scratchy blanket, the-

He's so close. Oh god, is he going to...? I can feel his breath slant across my cheek, the ticklish scratching of his hair, the heat from his skin. "...Logan?"

But he doesn't answer. Instead I feel the soft press of his mouth against mine. Gentle and warm, the faint brush of stubble. The taste of him. Grown up, male, and forbidden.

He lingers there, just for a moment, not long enough for my mutation to begin but enough to send a giddy kick through my entire body. Then he deepens it, just slightly, a shiver flooding down my back before... he pulls away.

When my eyes drift open I see him shifting back across to his seat.

Oh Christ.

He glances at me and raises an eyebrow at my probably melted glue expression. "Just so you can remember somethin' better than a coma," he says as he pulls on his seatbelt, though his voice is huskier than usual. "Don't go gettin' any ideas though." He throws me something that resembles a half-smirk.

I take in a shaky breath.

I won't. Well... I'll try not to. Which is useless because I know I'm going to fail. Miserably. This is enough to fuel a life time of teenage crush.

And yeah, I know he'd never touch me, not like that. I'm too young, and I know his heart belongs to Jean. But as he starts the engine and pulls back out onto the road, I watch the rivulets of rain strike patterns against the window and I bite my lip in the beginnings of a shy smile.

He just kissed me.


End file.
